


Wound

by Davechicken



Series: Kylux - Fluff & Angst [22]
Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-07
Updated: 2016-09-07
Packaged: 2018-08-13 18:52:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,378
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7982386
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Davechicken/pseuds/Davechicken
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hux has a really, really, REALLY bad day.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wound

There isn’t even really a reason for it. They say sometimes you get out of bed on the wrong side, but there’s only one side he _can_ get out of, and yes - okay - so it’s a figure of speech and not real, but today it’s kind of bugging him.

Everything is.

 _Bugging_ him.

The morning meeting with the command team has him nearly snapping the arm off the chair. Mitaka (who is normally so good), somehow talks in a nasally voice and keeps saying ‘uhm’. Ricardan’s chair castors need oiling; they screech whenever he pushes slightly back from the table. The information is the same old information he gets most days, and although it’s supposed to be good to ‘touch base’ and also to shame people publicly with their lack of progress to their key deliverables? To make them embarrassed to report their failures, so they don’t - you know - fail? It’s repetitive and dull and he’s not sure why he insisted on it.

And his shirt feels wrong. Like… like the collar is half a size too small. He spends the whole meeting wondering what disease he could have that would make his neck swell, or if the laundry service has sent the wrong shirts, or if they’ve changed the detergent manufacturer and ruined his whole fleet’s wardrobes. 

His boxers chafe. His boots pinch his big toes. The caf machine is whistling more than usual, and he’s jumping at _every single noise and there’s definitely a weird smell in the corridors_. 

There is _no reason_ for these things to irritate him, and yet they do. It’s almost as if his Knight’s lack of filtering and overly-emotional status has leaked into him, and then he can’t stop the niggling fear that it’s _true_. That Kylo has - with some weird Force crap - _turned him into him_. Or the bad bits. The jittery, moody, irrational bits.

Because obviously there has to be a reason behind all of this negativity. He’s a pragmatic person, and sensible. He doesn’t go around letting the tides on a distant planet pull at his emotional core, nope. There’s no magic, invisible, wishy-washy Force nonsense calling to his midi-somethings, or lack thereof. There has to be some empirical, fixable (destroyable) cause.

And he can’t find it.

He grinds his teeth and then hates the sound of enamel on enamel as the other people in the mess hall scratch cutlery over plates, and eat with the sounds of a ship breaking atmosphere. The smells are all rank and like decay, and he can see the glisten of grease around the edges of the so-called meat. Hux can’t finish the meal, pushing the tray into the collection unit and storming through the ship.

Straight to the med bay.

Straight to the med _droid_.

Because he’s not letting a Human near him like this. They will find out he’s weak and they will - fail to respect him? Something. He sits and lets the readings trickle out of him, but leave the tension and worry behind. The droid gives him a clean bill of health, tells him to drink more water, sleep more, and avoid stress.

**AVOID. STRESS. HE’S NOT IN A POSITION TO AVOID STRESS. STRESS IS AN ESSENTIAL PART OF HIS ROLE. HOW CAN THE TIN CAN NOT UNDERSTAND?**

The droid hands him a little bottle of pills.

Hux scoffs, and pushes them back.

Useless.

(But his neck apparently hasn’t swollen, so either there’s a problem with the sheets, or there’s a galactic conspiracy to drive him insane.)

Next he goes to the gym. He does not often get time to go to the gym, but he needs to keep in shape, so he will go every once in a while. Today he’s trying for something else, and he pounds the treadmill like a man possessed. He runs and runs (hah, take that, fat neck) and runs until the lack of food, the lack of sleep, and the lack of freedom from subtle destabilisation attempts by persons as yet unidentified make his head swim.

And then he swears at the machine, and goes off to shower.

***

By the time Kylo comes back to their rooms, Hux is tapping out an indignant letter detailing how he wants his senior staff to behave in the morning meeting (including minutiae of shirt collar detailing, overall comportment, chair-wheel use, frequency of ‘uhms’ to pertinent details, and general _not looking like they swallowed a thermal detonator_ ) and he doesn’t look up.

“In a minute.”  


He forgets that Kylo’s there, right up until the datapad is taken from him.

Or. Sort of.

Kylo lifts it upright, and Hux holds on, and Hux’s ass leaves the chair as he stubbornly refuses to relinquish it, and hangs - pendulous - from the device.

“Put me down.”  


“Let go of the machine.”  


“PUT ME DOWN I AM VERY BUSY, REN, THIS ISN’T A LAUGHING MATTER.”  


Okay. So he’s got a bit of a temper going on right now. But, damnit! 

Kylo uses the Force, and lifts him _wholly_ from the ground. Hux screeches (in a sort of unmanly fashion), letting go of the tablet and reaching for the other man. He’s _pissed off as all hell and–_

“Hux.”  


“PUT ME DOWN.”  


“Not until you calm down.”  


“I AM CALM. I AM SO CALM I MAKE JEDI LOOK LIKE THEY’RE HAVING A TANTRUM.”  


Normally ‘jokes’ about the Jedi end poorly, which is precisely why he made it. It usually riles Kylo up no end, and either results in explosive sex, or a fight. (Followed by explosive make-up sex.) But right now, he just gets a concerned look.

And is floated - still kicking - to the bed. Where he thrashes until he’s dropped face-first, and then there’s a heavy, unmoving weight straddling his hips. He’s about to hiss his utter outrage when two firm, warm hands catch his shoulders.

And _knead_. Knead, like he’s a loaf of bread waiting to be baked. Thumbs press below his shoulderblades, into his spine, up. Fingers scrunch and pull, and he forgets for a moment to be angry at the sudden hot, spreading pleasure of it. It hurts, kind of, but not too much. A throbbing discomfort, but the good kind, like scratching at an itch. 

Hux decides to reserve his final judgement until Kylo has finished, going stiller under the attentions. He’s never been treated to a real backrub from Kylo before, and it’s been… what? Months since the last time he got the cracks worked out by someone else. Someone who _clearly had no idea what they were doing if this is anything to go by_.

Snick, shunk, crish. He can _feel_ the knots and whorls releasing, feel the way his body just obeys the careful attentions and demands. A few times he hisses as something catches the edge of ‘okay’, and then there’s a gentle pummelling as Kylo’s fists beat over his back to drum him into submission.

It’s… good. It’s more than good. The deep massage sends his mind kind of fuzzy, and the pain spreads out, chased soon after by a wave of contentment and bliss. He moans into the pillow, and stretches under the attention, feline and grateful.

By the time Kylo is finished, Hux has become a puddle of low happiness, and he wriggles and sighs and hides his smile so Kylo can’t see. Even if he’s really grateful, he’s aware he’s been a complete ass all day, and he just… isn’t ready to apologise, just yet. Or ever.

Instead, he takes the kisses to the back of his neck with a flush, and rolls under him the minute he’s able to. Arms up, around his Knight’s shoulders, and he pushes their foreheads together.

“You feel bad, you should find me,” Kylo tells him.  


“I felt fine.”  


“Rancorcrap.”  


“I’m–” Lying. “…okay.” It’s absolutely against his nature. Absolutely. He doesn’t need to ask for help (it shows he’s weak), and he isn’t ruled by his emotions like other people are. He’s just…  


“Hux.”  


“I’ll try. Okay?”  


Kylo kisses the edge of an awkward smile. “Okay.”

He might admit it more, if he gets treated like this, though.

“Do I still get goodnight kisses?” Hux asks.  


“Do you think you deserve them?”  


“Yes?” Not really.  


Kylo smiles, and gives him them anyway.


End file.
